Laying in bed wondering where I can find traces of what once was.
“It wasn’t supposed to end this way”
“You are one half of a memory whose other half was burnt away in a letter and washed away down the drain”
“what was your original configuration?”

1. (a) Static fills my red walls as you leave behind white noise with your lips slightly leaving the brim of my cheek. Ghost images of your body resurfacing in the darkness of loneliness. Sometimes I can hear your voice in the unsettling tick of my watch and you whisper violently that someone somewhere is disappointed in me.

2. Today’s secret ingredient is courage with a pinch of pride. My mother comes home from work and spends her evening cleaning the kitchen and pretending that her chest pains and cough with midst of blood are indicative of strong cleaning chemicals and not enough hydration.

2. (a) They keep telling me that I am to young to know what love is, that it’s foolish to be hopelessly romanticized. To live life one day at a time, if there were any other way to live. Or at least stumble across reasoning behind existing. Maybe there is a woman who lives one week at time, or perhaps by the way the hands of the clock move as seconds whisper into the numerical symbols idolized by towers and small wrist watches. Moments that can not be bothered by trivial remnants of day-to-day lessons. She is a big picture kind of gal who doesn’t wait patiently for stop signs to allow her to cross streets in the suburb jungle, She doesn’t avoid eye contact with people who look at her with bewildered eyes. Who drinks coffee in the morning with a strange french name and kisses with her eyes open.

2. (c) My little niece watched me through the window pane while I lied to my lover on the phone of why I couldn’t sleep in her bed anymore. My neighbors dog barked, tilted his head, and lied on the grass. When i hung up the phone and put my smoke out he runs back into the house as if the dark cloud over my head had broken off into a thunderstorm and drove him away.